This is an edited reblog (with a few new bits!) of a post from the old, now defunct, WordPress version of the Diabetes Victoria blog. I may live with diabetes and diabetes may live inside me. But I don’t do diabetes alone and I have always been emphatic about acknowledging the support I am fortunate to have. I couldn’t live with diabetes as well as I do without the people living in the village around me. 

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I have type 1 diabetes… And the people I know with type 1 diabetes – in fact, all types of diabetes – who appear to manage best, do so with the support of many people, a veritable village made up of loved ones, friends, colleagues, extended families, health professionals. And the odd village idiot.

I have type 1 diabetes. Although my husband doesn’t, he knows a terrible lot about it. I’ve never seen anyone fly across a room to grab a jar of jelly beans the way he does when he sees that glazed look come over me. Or when I start to giggle uncontrollably for no apparent reason. Or when I begin to tear up for no apparent reason. Or when I start to act irrationally (he would perhaps suggest more irrationally) for no apparent reason. Aaron not only identifies when I am hypo before my meter has told me, he can also interpret my different hypo personalities, of which there are many. This, quite frankly, makes him brilliant. But the most wonderful thing Aaron does for me and my diabetes is that he recognises how crap it is sometimes. I love how he has learnt that trying to ‘fix’ a diabetes situation isn’t what I need; instead a nod of his head, a hug and the words ‘Diabetes sucks’ will more than suffice.

I have type 1 diabetes. Although my daughter may not, she understands just how it impacts on me. From when she was tiny to now, she has come to know that diabetes does impact on me at times and that will affect her. But she has never complained. Her advocacy efforts make me proud and pain me in equal measure, because diabetes has become her cause in may ways when I really wish it hadn’t.

I have type 1 diabetes. Although my endocrinologist may not, she has an uncanny ability to pinpoint the exact information I am looking for (often before I’ve asked). She knows about the dark side of diabetes and offers help working through it. And she listens, listens, listens.

I have type 1 diabetes. Although most of my friends don’t, (even though I seem to have a statistically significant number of friends with diabetes), they know that diabetes sometimes really pisses me off and that the way to offer help is not with unsolicited advice. However an offer to meet me for coffee, prosecco or chat or walk where I can vent about diabetes – or ignore it – will always be met with gratitude.  And those friends who do share my pancreatically-challenged existence offer support, humour, understanding – often without words.

I have type 1 diabetes and my parents don’t. My mother also lives with a life-long condition and although it’s different to mine, we have an unspoken understanding of the boredom and sheer frustration of such an imposition in our lives. And when she sees that I am going through a difficult period, she helps – but never, ever makes it about her. I was diagnosed as an adult, so my parents were never responsible for making diabetes decisions for me. But I know that they walk alongside me, keenly feeling my frustrations and anger, as well as the moments I celebrate. I’ve come to learn that’s what parents do for their kids – even when their kids are in their 40s.

It takes a village to raise a child and it takes a village to deal with diabetes.  When we try to do it all on our own, it can be overwhelming.  My village supports me, assists me, and reminds me that they are there to help. Not only in the times things are becoming too hard, but also in the times when everything is going well. They are part of the reason that the good times happen. They didn’t choose to live in this village and they could have moved anytime they wanted. But they haven’t. I don’t think they will never know how grateful I am to them, but I will try to tell them and explain how important they are.

Of course, the village idiots will always feature – those who think they found a cure in herbs they picked up in their recent travels. Or those who think that the best way to deal with me having diabetes is to pity me. But the village idiots can be a source of humour too, (see here). And laughing is important, so in their own little way, the village idiot is helping and I say thanks to them, too!

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